Death Knights
by snakefloss
Summary: Ithanel and Nexxia, two wildly different elves with very similar fates. Becoming a death knight can be a blessing or a curse. (Originally posted on Wattpad, on my account kairozdormu. Rated T for violence and suicide/cutting/child abuse mentions. Glitchiness fixed.)
1. Ithanel Dawnblood

-Set during Wrath of the Lich King-

Taylith smiled, her glowing green eyes lighting up at the sight of her husband. "Ithanel!" she called out, running towards him. She stopped in her tracks as she got closer, realizing who he was talking to.

"My apologies, Highlord Fordring. I didn't mean to interrupt." She gave the Highlord a bow, and took a step back. Ithanel grinned at her, happy to see her. He returned his attention to the Highlord, his wife's presence seeming to cheer him up.

"It's alright, Lady Lightfade. I was just finishing giving Captain Dawnblood his orders. I'm expecting an attack from the Scourge any minute now, and we need to be ready. I'm done now, though, so you can speak to your husband... whatever you have to say, I'm sure it's important." Tirion gave her a wink and a smile, as if he knew what she was going to say. Taylith didn't doubt that he did. News like this spread fast through the Crusade, and the medics were supposed to report immediately to the highest ranking member of the base in a case like hers. Tirion was currently helping this base, and he was the highest authority, being the leader of the Argent Crusade. "I would like you to sit out this battle, however."

Taylith nodded in understanding. It would be hard to watch the undead Scourge come into the base while resisting the urge to bash their zombie skulls in, but she didn't want to risk injuring herself.

Ithanel looked completely confused at the Highlord's remark, watching him as he left. Once the Highlord was out of sight, he turned his confused gaze towards his wife. "What was that about?" he asked.

Taylith looked like she was going to burst with excitement. "Ithanel, I'm-"

The rest of her words were drowned out by the sound of the battle horns. The Scourge was invading, and at the worst moment possible. Though it was to be expected, and the Highlord's preparations would come in handy.

"Hold that thought, Taylith... I'm sorry you can't be in this battle, for whatever reason." Ithanel unsheathed his sword, and left with the rest of the soldiers preparing for battle.  
"Be careful!" Taylith called after him, her excitement being replaced with disappointment, and slight fear. She tried to get the excitement back. _You can tell him after the battle_, she thought, _because no one ever dies from these skirmishes. They're just trying to make us tired, and it never works._ Depsite her words, worry crept into her mind, ruining her good mood further.

* * *

"I'm sorry ya didn't get to tell 'im, Tay." The medic continued taking off Taylith's bloody bandages to redress an old wound. The infection was nearly gone, and the foul smell of undeath was fading from the claw marks. It would heal fully, although it would leave a scar.

Taylith swung her feet as she sat, allowing Kexxli the goblin priest to do her job. "I can't help but worry about him... he's never been very strong, but he's also never lost in one of these fights before..."

"Hun, this stress is goin' ta drive ya insane, and be bad for your condition. He'll come back, you'll see. Now, how are ya feelin'?" Kexxli looked at her with blue eyes. Goblins were normally very short, but she was standing on a chair to get a better look at Taylith.

"A bit sick, but that's to be expected. Also, horrible back aches." Taylith picked at her manicured nails absently, still obviously stressed but trying to push it out of her mind.

Kexxli jumped off her chair. "I'll go get ya somethin' for that. I know the perfect remedy for the pain. It has bruiseweed an' briarthorn - who woulda' thought a' that? I'll also get you some peacebloom tea. It's soothing." Kexxli grinned as she walked away to fetch the remedy.

Taylith watched Kexxli leave the medic tent, shivering briefly as the cold winds of Icecrown flew in through the open flap. The cold quickly went away as the flap closed, and Taylith was left alone in the tent. She could hear the sounds of battle outside, and felt a pang of jealousy. She wanted to help send the mongrels back to their graves. She glanced at her sword, and her fingers twitched as she almost reached for it.

She got up, away from the weapon, and walked outside to see the battle. She looked around for Ithanel, but she could only see waves of rotting corpses, both on the ground and attacking. And they could see her.

Three or four of the living dead began stumbling towards her, faster than they looked. She immediately regretted not bringing her sword. As they neared her, she saw a red ponytail and a splatter of embalming fluids. The ghouls walking towards her all collapsed, sliced through their stomachs and dead for the final time. She looked at her savior.

"Ithanel, thank you!" she said, smiling. He smiled back, though he seemed a bit disturbed at the violence. He shot a blast of Light magic at a nearby skeleton, killing it and a bit more relieved he could mete out justice without getting goo all over himself.

"About what I wanted to tell you earlier..." Taylith had his full attention now, as the battle moved slightly further away. They were safe for a very short time, so she had to be fast.

"Yes?" Ithanel prompted, tapping his fingers on the handle of his blade. He was ready to pull it out again at a moment's notice.

Taylith opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a horrified gasp. She sat with her mouth wide open in shock.

Right before her eyes, a purple spider-like creature, one of the undead Nerubians, leapt off of a nearby tent and impaled Ithanel through the chest with a single claw. Thick, red blood splattered from the wound and Ithanel spit out blood as he collapsed to the floor. The Nerubian chuckled as it was sprayed with the elf's blood, its voice a raspy mixture of clicks and a humanoid voice, which made Taylith shudder briefly. It raised its claw once more, ready to strike down the female blood elf.

She quickly recovered from the shock, her surprise turning into rage. She grabbed Ithanel's dropped sword and sliced the Nerubian in half, cutting off its disturbing laughter. She dropped to her knees before Ithanel and propped his head up on her legs. She hovered her hand over her husband's bleeding wound, willing the Light to heal his wound. She didn't care about his blood soaking her pants, and she didn't care that she was shivering violently in the cold.

Tears streamed from her eyes as her hand lit up with the glow of the Light, warm despite the cold winds. Although the Light complied, giving her its aid, her focus was affected by her sadness and the wound was healing too slowly.

"It won't... work..." Ithanel gasped, using his last moments to speak to Taylith. "The wound... is too bad. What were you going to tell... me..." He coughed, more blood escaping his mouth.

Taylith didn't take her eyes off the wound, willing it to close faster. She used all of her concentration, though it didn't do much.

Ithanel didn't feel the pain of the wound, as he was in shock. He was more focused on convincing his wife to give her announcement. "Taylith!" he snapped, his voice strained. "J-just... tell me.."

Taylith pulled her hands away, and tried to speak in between sobs. "I'm-" her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I'm pregnant!"

Ithanel had stopped breathing before she had gotten it out, but Taylith swore she could see a tiny smile on his elven features. She let out a sob, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head.

Taylith didn't get the chance to mourn for much longer, because someone grabbed her and pulled her back into the tent. She saw a geist jumped to where she had been sitting, and she watched through the entrance flap as the geist grabbed Ithanel's body and began dragging him away.

Taylith gritted her teeth and struggled against her savior's grasp, trying to get to the geist to kill it. With her bare hands, if necessary. "Let me go!" she screamed, determined to save her husband from whatever tortures they had for him, even after death.

"No! You can't go out there, Taylith. You'll be killed!" The voice belonged to one of her superiors, a female orc named Jukra.

"I don't care!" Taylith yelled, surprising Jukra. "I don't care, because Ithanel's dead!" Despite her words, Taylith stopped struggling, and dropped to the floor. Jukra released Taylith's wrists, the risk of escape gone, and let the elf sit on the floor for a few minutes, crying.

"Pull yourself together, Taylith. There's nothing we can do. I don't even see the monster anymore." The orc was blunt, not uncommon for her race.

After a while, it became silent, aside from Taylith's sobs. The outside skirmish had grown quiet, with the occasional scraping of a sword against reanimated bone. Then, the battle horn was sounded again. Two notes for the Argent Crusade's victory. Jukra cheered at the victory, but Taylith didn't acknowledge the sound.

A few moments passed before Taylith finally spoke, turning to face Jukra. "Where.. where's Kexxli?"

Jukra looked at Taylith, but didn't meet her eyes. "She's... dead." The orc had always believed in the truth.

Taylith had one final question. "Where-," her voice cracked once again, and she started over. "Where will they take his body?"

Jukra looked away from Taylith. She couldn't stand to look her in the eyes as she, again, told the truth.

"I can't be sure, but... they will likely make new death knights."


	2. Nexxia Silversun

-During Warcraft III: the Frozen Throne-

Nexxia walked swiftly on the cobbled path, holding many books in her hands with many others floating around her head, sustained by magic. Her silk, gold-hemmed robes barely brushed the ground, and fit her form perfectly, showing off her curves. She wore the perfect amount of makeup, black eyeliner framing her glowing blue eyes and gloss making her lips look full and plump. Her long elven ears bounced lightly as she walked. A sapphire-encrusted headband kept part of her blonde hair held back, while her short bangs covered her forehead. Not a single strand of hair was misplaced. Three golden hoops and a pyrite stud adorned each of her ears. She walked with her chin high, acting as if she owned the entire city.

While she was acting as her noble status allowed, she gazed around the city, a smile gracing her lips. She watched the brooms brush the street on their own, various students around her age practicing magic, and other citizens, a mix of magical and non-magical, going about their day. She truly loved Dalaran, and its inhabitants, which was a miraculous feat for her.

She turned her attention away from her surroundings as she came to her destination. She was at the library, and as soon as she walked in the bustle of the streets was replaced by still silence. She missed the noise of outside, but she had no choice but to come in and bear the noiselessness. She dropped off her myriad of books at the front counter, and left as quickly as she could. Her fear of silence couldn't be explained; but if she had to, she would say it allowed her to hear her conscience. A part of her which had long been buried.

She felt great relief with all of the heavy books gone and the noise of the city once again filling her ears. Her training was almost done, and she no longer needed her textbooks. She had acquired a great many during her years studying in the mage city of Dalaran. Now, she never had to read another book if she didn't want to. She would soon become a mage of the Kirin Tor, having a great amount of magic at her fingerprints. She would also be ready to take on her own apprentice and finally have a position of authority, as she deserved.

She was a SIlversun, after all, and one of the highest nobles in Silvermoon City, and she expected special treatment for it. But that was in Quel'thalas, the land of the high elves. Much to her annoyance, here in human lands she had quickly found that her title meant almost nothing. The only elf not in the Council of Six who was treated like royalty was the actual royalty of her people, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider. He studied in Dalaran as well, though his training had progressed much more quickly than hers due to his title.

While his beauty was not uncommon among her race, she still blushed as she walked past him, though he glanced at her for barely a moment, focused completely on a pretty young human. Typically her behavior was seen in human females (and certain males), as they tended to be amazed by the natural beauty of high elves.  
She was so busy being uncharacteristically lovesick that she didn't notice what was in front of her. She bumped into another elf, and was ready to snap at them like a ravenous crocolisk. Before she could do so, she recognized a familiar face.

Her angry face transformed into a wide grin, and she wrapped her arms around the figure.

"Ren!" she exclaimed, trapping her sister in a bear hug. The other elf didn't look much like her sister, aside from the characteristic blonde hair of the Silversun family and the glowing, blue, pupil-less eyes of their race.

Ren laughed, returning the hug. "Hey, Nex!" she responded, any old feuds forgotten for the sake of their reunion. They pulled away, and Nexxia fixed her hair quickly, out of habit.

"I completely forgot you were visiting today! I guess it makes sense, as I am graduating today. And I did make a point of telling everyone."  
Renei gave a mock frown. "Am I really that forgettable?" she asked with a pout.

"Yes," Nexxia responded, faking seriousness. She looked around for a moment. "Nobody else wanted to come?"

"Well, it's quite a long way to travel from Quel'thalas to Dalaran. Also, father's missing, mother's dead, Maren's dead, and Athrendir hates you so... no, I don't think anyone else is coming."

Nexxia laughed. "Well, next time you see him, stab him for me, will you?" Her sense of humor didn't seem to please her sister.

Ren shook her head. "You know I would never do that."

"Yeah, well, it was worth a shot, I guess." Nexxia began walking towards a far-off tower, near the edge of the city, where she was living as long as she was a student. Renei followed her, talking about recent events.

After a few minutes of walking, the sisters heard a rumbling, followed by a scream. They whirled around to the source, and saw the horrifying sight of a giant, undead corpse eating a poor child while the mother watched in agony before she, too, was devoured. While Nexxia was entranced by the sight, and even smiling slightly, Renei turned away and shut her eyes, terrified as more undead monsters came into view.

Nexxia summoned her sword. The blade appeared from nothing, arriving from a pocket in space that all apprentices learned to create late in their training. She wielded the sword with ease as the undead approached her. She reveled in the tortured screams around her, but was determined to shove that feeling down in order to protect her city.  
One of the zombies approached her, and she promptly sliced it in half. She had lost sight of Renei as the undead rushed in around her, but for the moment she was focused on slaughtering the Scourge. Her sister knew how to defend herself. More undead came to her; all fell to her sword, or to her various spells. She sent a bolt of fire at one zombie. Another was frozen in its tracks, transformed into a block of ice. One of the reanimated bug-people was shapeshifted into a squirrel, wandering aimlessly until the spell wore off. As soon as that happened, she impaled it on a spike of ice. Its purple blood splashed onto her dress, and she grinned madly.

Nexxia heard an incredibly familiar scream amidst the cacophony. She turned around, her joyful expression switching to one of horror, watching her sister be crushed by a pillar. She hadn't noticed it, being lost in the moment, but the ground was shaking and buildings around her were falling to pieces. She could sense demonic magic all around her, knowing it to be the cause of the destruction.

She stared blankly at the space where her sister had once been, which was now occupied by a large chunk of marble and a growing pool of blood. Her stupor was broken as she was attacked once again, and she mutilated the undead with her sword. The ghoul's bony claws has taken a chunk of flesh from her leg. She now limped, her blood staining her robes and spilling to her boots, but in her anger she didn't feel the pain.

A part of her admired the Scourge for its mindless, brutal destruction. That part was drowned out by the pain of seeing her sister, likely the only one on Azeroth who actually liked her, be crushed by them.

She was so focused on her rage, killing anything in sight, that she didn't notice her growing number of injuries. The amount of undead surrounding her was overwhelming, and she couldn't kill them all at once. Her attacks grew slower, as her own blood joined the stale blood of her enemies. Her wounded leg seared in pain whenever she put too much pressure on it. She saw a flash of purple, a sharp claw coming towards her. Her dulled senses didn't comprehend it until it struck, slicing straight through her midsection.

The two halves of her body fell to the ground with a soft thud. Blood and guts poured out of them, staining the cobbled floor. Nexxia screamed in pain, still conscious for a few more seconds while she bled out. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she arrogantly thought, _I can't die!_

The last thing she knew was the feeling of being dragged away... both literally, and metaphorically. She could almost feel her soul being tugged from her body as she closed her eyes.

Then, darkness consumed her. She felt no peace in the darkness, only pain that she had never experienced before. She would have writhed, if she had a body, and screamed if she had a mouth. Yet somehow, the pain brought her great joy. She was reminded of burning her hand as she set fire to her home, but as she backed away and waited for the tortured screams of her mother and brother to come, she knew her own pain would be worth their agony.

Pain wracked her spirit. After what felt like an eternity, she felt herself being dragged away once again. Great relief flooded over her, as she was pulled away from the pain, though she felt a sadness as the joy faded as well.

Then, she opened her eyes.


	3. Awakening :: Voices

The silence was comforting. He felt completely peaceful, surrounded by the white light. Where he had felt great pain, he now felt nothing. It was a good kind of nothing. He had no worries, no regrets, just the calmness of the void.

Suddenly, he was ripped away from that comfort. He now realized why newborns cried. The safety of the womb was reassuring; being torn from it was complete agony. He couldn't recall why this analogy was important to him.

He opened his eyes with a gasp, overwhelmed by sudden feeling. His senses returned, the white light fading to near-darkness. He could hear talking, though it sounded distant. He could smell the foul stench of _rot_, and the source seemed to be him. He could see almost nothing, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out blurry faces. Everything seemed to have a slight bluish tint. He could taste the rot in his mouth, making it clear that he was the source of the smell, though it didn't taste bad. He shuddered at that.

Finally, he could feel. He felt the ground against his bare skin, though he at least wore a pair of pants, which he was thankful for despite it being the least of his problems. The cold ground felt warm against him, and he seemed to radiate a chill. He could move his limbs, he could curl his fingers and wiggle his toes - all things he had been without just a moment before, when his spirit had wandered peacefully.

The sudden rush of returning sense was too much for his body and mind to handle. He quickly lost consciousness.

* * *

He opened his eyes once more, the shift much more bearable this time. His foggy senses had cleared up, and his body had readjusted to accommodate the fact that it now existed. He could hear the people around him clearly. He counted the number of voices, and the number of people - cultists, by the look of it - and they didn't seem to match up. The voice that was unaccounted for was a low whispering, quiet and almost unnoticeable.

He focused on the voices belonging to those he could see, passing off the final voice as nothing but wind. The three cultists were talking amongst themselves. Discussing him. They didn't seem to realize he was awake, and terrified. He was lying next to his enemy, vulnerable and weak.

"-just passed out! I don't understand why we're spending so much _time_-" The first cultist, a stumpy male dwarf, was interrupted by the one closest to him.

"You dare question the Lich King's orders? He always has a reason. Whether or not you don't understand doesn't matter, and I suggested you stop such talk before you find yourself as dead as him!" She pointed a finger at Ithanel angrily, causing him to jump a bit at the sudden action and utter a quiet "eep!"

The first cultist glared at the second, as if to say, "See? He's afraid of his own shadow." She, and what seemed to be her apprentice, were too focused on Ithanel to notice.

"Welcome back to the world, Dawnblood," she said with a fanged grin. Her long purple ears and accent deemed her to be a night elf. The whispering grew a little louder, though still inaudible, and Ithanel's terror was replaced by silent rage as he sat up. He had never felt such anger in his life, but he... enjoyed it. He watched the grinning necromancer, who seemed to be mocking him. Revelling in the irony that a paladin, who fought so valiantly against the Scourge, had now become one of the undead.

She spoke once more, but Ithanel didn't hear it. Because the voice had finally spoken up.

_Give in to your anger._

He reached for a nearby sword, which had been discarded by its last owner. Rather, its owner had been discarded, judging by the blood stain near the blade.

He swiped, aiming with such sudden strength and accuracy that the apprentice and the male necromancer gasped in surprise as their colleague was cut down in a flash of gleaming silver and blood.

Horrified at his action, Ithanel dropped the blade. The cultists fled before he could strike again.

_Good work._

The whispers died down once more, leaving Ithanel to stare at the body in shock. He couldn't feel some of the signs of a panic attack - he no longer had a use for his heart or breathing - but he had the familiar feeling all the same. He had never killed a living being before. As he thought about what he had just done, he couldn't keep his mind off of the whispers... the whispers that controlled him. He was reminded of a piece of information he had read in a battle plan.

"_The death knights are controlled directly by their master, the Lich King himself. They obey his every command, hearing his whispers telepathically._"

Ithanel felt a fresh wave of panic, and felt a mixture of wanting to be sick and wanting to cry. His body settled for both, yet neither tears nor vomit ever came. He was dead, so obviously he had no bodily fluids. This thought just made his urge to cry stronger.

He tried to calm himself. If he could feel his emotions, then surely the Lich King held no control over him. The whispers were his own mind... he was just angry at the Scourge he had fought against.

Somehow, the elf doubted this was true.

His panic faded as he heard a voice. It was rough, painful to hear, yet it calmed him. He looked up to see a tall, well-muscled human in a full set of plate armor. His eyes glowed ice blue, which probably mimicked Ithanel's own, now that he had been raised as a death knight. He was frowning, looking a bit angry. Ithanel was reminded of his father, and felt the panic rise up again. He fought it down.

The human dropped a wooden crate on the ground, landing with a loud clank. From the label on the lid, it held armor within.

"Put it on, and come to the main part of Acherus for instruction. You'll know the way." The human left Ithanel alone to do as he was told.

His mind was completely opposed, but his body pried open the crate. It was a full set of plate armor, as well as some cloth armor to wear underneath. He put it all on, the process being familiar to him. In life, he had been accustomed to wearing heavy plate. Now, in death, its weight had no effect on him.

_Well_, he thought, trying to justify his compliance, _I needed a way to cover my scars..._

The armor did a beautiful job of that. It showed none of the skin on his back, and his gloves came up to his elbow where the sleeves of his chestplate covered his upper arms. No part of his wrists could be seen.

The human was right. He did know the way. His body seemed to have all of the directions programmed into it. He felt as though he wasn't in control, but he also knew he was. He couldn't disobey orders.

He entered the main area, where other death knights trained. Various ghouls and geists and abominations labored mindlessly, doing the work that was beneath the death knights. He heard various knights die in training, and he gulped in fear, knowing that those dying screams could be his own. Yet he itched to join their fight.

He stopped before the human. _Instructor Razuvious,_ the whispers informed him. He gave a salute, ready for instruction.

"You need a weapon, initiate. Find a runeblade on one of the racks nearby. Use a runeforge to empower it. Don't return to me until this task is complete. If you fail at this simple, meaningless errand and return with questions, I will kill you." Razuvious sounded dead serious. Ithanel could have laughed at the pun, if he wasn't so caught up in his struggle between wanting to escape this nightmare and wanting to murder anything living. Not for the first time, he remembered with horror that he could no longer classify as living. His need for escape grew stronger.

For now, he did as he was told. He explained to himself the reason why. _It's necessary for my survival_. He realized how stupid it was to keep lying to himself, but he ignored that fact.

He found a sword. Perfectly balanced, double-edged, and engraved with runes of power. He could already feel his strength enhanced, although the runes weren't yet activated. He approached a runeforge, as instructed, and put the blade within the forge. It turned itself on. He channeled unholy magic into it, and the runes on the blade began to glow. He had no lie to give himself this time, he was forced to accepted that he already knew how to work the forge.

He returned to the Instructor, runeblade in hand.

"Good work." His expression did not match his encouraging words. "There are some unworthy initiates in the pit behind me. I want you to kill them. If you die, they will be taking your place." He left Ithanel to contemplate this, moving to fix a necromancer's mistake and likely to kill them for their error.

Ithanel stared at the pit. Many death knights, of all different races and genders, were chained to the sides of the pit. Sword at the ready, he headed down the steps and approached one of them. He unchained them, putting on his best "I'm an evil death knight and I will kill you" face.

"The Lich King will see his true champion today, scum!" The draenei lunged at him, hitting him with a blast of frost before striking with her blade.

He dodged the strike, and dealt a blow of his own, slicing one of her hands off. Her reaction time was very slow; he had no doubts as to why she was considered unworthy. She cried out in pain before going straight for Ithanel's head. He ducked easily. She was fighting through anger, and wasn't hitting accurately. Meanwhile, the whispers in Ithanel's head goaded him on, telling him exactly where to strike and when. It wasn't long before her body hit the ground, lifeless for the final time.

He avoided looking at her as he left the pit. _It was for the good of the world,_ he lied. _One less death knight is one less threat against the living_. He left out the fact that he was quickly become quite a strong death knight.

He returned to Razuvious, where he was given his next task.

* * *

Ithanel struck the priest down. He had long since given up on his conscience. The blood stained his armor and he was happy. He had allowed the Lich King's whispers to destroy his old thoughts. He had become tired of his depression and his frequent panic attacks, his constant lies and feeling as though he was never in control of his own body.

He felt nothing but bliss as he killed his next foe. The Scarlet Crusader died quickly, her skills no match for death itself.

Yet, when the Lich King's whispers grew quiet, and silence fell as the battles came to a standstill, he could almost hear his old thoughts. But he could shed no tears.


End file.
